"It's a nice change, you bad-tempered fellow----"

She had never really recovered from the illusion that she had captured
him by her charms rather than by her poor little fortune, and when she
dared she was arch with an undertone of grievance. Robert had capered
about him and held his hand and made faces at Christine so that she
should pretend too. Otherwise there would be another row. But
Christine held her ground.

"The butcher came this afternoon," she said. "He says he is going to
get out a summons. And the bailiff is in again. It's about the
furniture. You said it was paid for. I can't think how you could be
so mad. I rang up Melton's about it, and they say the firm wants to
prosecute. If they do, it might mean two years'----"

Robert had stopped capering. His knees had shaken under him with a
new, inexplicable fear. But James Stonehouse had taken no notice. He
had gone on spreading and warming himself before the fire. He had
looked handsome and extraordinarily, almost aggressively, prosperous.

"I shall write a sharp note to Melton's. Damned impertinence. An old
customer like myself. Get the fellow down into the kitchen. The whole
thing will be settled tomorrow. I've had an amazing piece of luck.
Amazing. Met Griffiths--you remember my telling you about Alec
Griffiths, don't you, Christine? Student with me at the University.
Got sent down together. Wonderful fellow--wonderful. Now he's in
business in South Africa. Made his pile in diamonds. Simply rolling.
He's going to let me in. Remarkable chap. Asked him to dinner. Oh,
I've arranged all that on my way up. Gunther's are sending round a
cook and a couple of waiters and all that's necessary. For God's sake,